Haiku (II)

Knob on an oak tree –

I am counting the summers

until I am old.

 

Moon face

I saw once on this street:

I’m forgetting the name.

 

One afternoon,

kneeling in the dirt –

ground as hard as lion’s tooth!

 

No map,

I tell my way by the stars –

who can say I’m fast asleep?

 

Chrysanthemum

dropping its petals,

a chill setting in!

 

Haiku (I)

The old fisherman

casting out his line,

holding his hat.

 

White linen bedclothes –

a little whiter, I think,

and they would be gone!

 

Winter afternoon –

the tea is pouring out

faster than the rain.

 

A carpenter ant

is toiling in the stable:

he, too, is my friend.

 

Lady Gray –

what a weathered cheek,

what a sorrowful mouth.

 

Revelation

A swallow landed at the landlord’s golden gate:

Svelte-seeming swallow, small begotten king,

A thing to glory in so many miniatures of spring

Sprung all to blooming in bedappling beds,

Heads of the hyacinth, so much overfed, looked longing

On high to the highriding Sun of whom they were sons;

They were blushing the flush of a mother,

They were hushing to hear the swallow their Brother!

Their Brother winged wide to the goldenwrought gate

Forespeaking the sounds of a highmountain place:

The trees were bowing their leaves to the song!

The swallow was sweeping the stone hearts along!

The swallow, oh swallow! – inviolable grace! –

Stood steady straight, straight steady stood, standing at the gate.

 

 

Night Address

I wait, cold, in a field of snow
No one disturbs the sleep.

I do not dare move my limbs
Slim wrists drop out from white sleeves.

I am a quiet beggar with no tin cup
Asking for the birds to alight.

What a ponderous night
Yet I am not loath to carry weight.

The feather-light is out of place
I am wearing boots that sink.

I call out a hollow sound
But my breath has frozen stiff.

Muss es sein? It must be.
Muss es sein? It must be.

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